


This Is Home

by thehoesthoeinallthelandofhoes



Series: Non-Linear Stories of Wanderer [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Cavetown - This Is Home, F/M, Gen, Haircuts, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Sole Survivor - Freeform, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 17:36:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16288895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehoesthoeinallthelandofhoes/pseuds/thehoesthoeinallthelandofhoes
Summary: Deacon has never liked the Minutemeny or their stupid castle.





	This Is Home

 The cool air of his room prickles at his skin. He's never liked it here, but Wanderer likes it, so he compromises. He stares at himself in the mirror, something he rarely does, and sees a stranger. He feels like a nobody inside of a somebody's skin, and it scares him how little he remembers who he was. He knows he ought to change the way he looks soon, should really pick up and leave this place already. This place is starting to get too comfortable,  too much like- no, that's a thought he absolutely _cannot_ have.  
  
He runs an open palm ovet his head, feeling the little bit of stubble that has started to grow. The little bit of ginger that covers his head infuriates yet comforts him at the same time- because if there's one thing plastic surgery can't change, it's your hair colour. It reminds him of a life he left behind, a person he was, and a mistake he made. He lifts the razor up and watches as the moonlight shines off of it.  
  
He contemplates letting it grow, but shakes the thought off and allows his mind to wander elsewhere. He thinks about Wanderer, and how he knows next to nothing about them apart from the things they've done. The thought that they're doing a better job of hiding than he is simultaneously impresses and fightens him. He thinks back to the time he saw those vault doors open and spit out a terrified little vault-dweller- and how that same person killed a mirelurk queen to take the very castle he stands in.  
  
"Need help with that?"  
  
He jumps minutely at the sudden sound; then turns around to see Wanderer standing in the doorway.  
  
"Um, yeah,"  
  
They walk into the room, then over to the side of the room to pull a chair over to the middle of the room. They gesture for him to sit, so he picks up the can of dirty water and brings it with him and sits down. He hands the water and razor to them with barely shaking hands. Wanderer rakes them and immediately gets to work, dipping the tool into the water before starting to run it over his head.  
  
The whole scene feels intimate, and he realises it feels that way because it _is_. He is putting his trust in this persons hands- this person that he barely knows, yet trusts fully. The gentle scraping of the blade against his head calms him, and he allows himself to relax, if only a little bit. His shoulders feel less tense, his brows unfurrow, and his fists unclench. He almost purrs as the razor is dragged safely across the back of his neck, and be realises distantly that Wanderer is being so, so careful. They could be rushing to finish the job that a sad, old man cannot- but they take their time instead, making sure not to hurt him. Something blooms in his chest and flows in the pit of his stomach, but it isn't altogether unpleasanr- in fact it's... warm, kind, and soft.  
  
He's never like the Minutemen or their stupid castle, but strangely he feels at home in this place.


End file.
